


signs of weakness

by rory_kent



Series: sherlock and his daddy [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Daddy Kink, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Little Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Snogging, Sugar Daddy John Watson, Unilock, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_kent/pseuds/rory_kent
Summary: do you ever look into the mirror, and want to see someone else?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: sherlock and his daddy [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767892
Comments: 19
Kudos: 108





	signs of weakness

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! just another installment of sherlock and daddy, trigger warnings for eating disorders! <3

Sherlock looked himself over in the mirror for the third time that morning, his fingers tracing over his bare chest, palm slapping against his hollow stomach. Too fat there. He prodded his ribs. Too skinny there. He stepped up on his toes, leaning on the sink and pushing his face up close to the mirror. Ugh. Disgustingly strange face. He closed his eyes tight and leaned his forehead on the cool glass. He jumped as tan muscular arms wrapped around his middle, looking up in the mirror to see John, hair still fluffed from sleep resting his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder, eyes lustful and deep sapphire blue. A  _ god _ . 

“Good morning, baby,” He whispered, breath hot in Sherlock’s ear, causing him to involuntarily giggle. John’s hands traced down his tummy, poking a trail down to the waistband of his pyjamas, but Sherlock turned around before he could get past them. 

“Morning daddy,” Sherlock said quickly, wrapping his arms around John’s neck, needing the touch, his chest pressed firmly against John’s, warmth filling him. John chuckled and wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s waist. 

“Ready to eat, little one?” John offered with a smile, and Sherlock bit his lip, eyes searching the bathroom until he saw the clock.

“No I have to dash, study group meeting,” He quickly let go of John and moved to leave, but John reached out and grasped his wrist. He eyed Sherlock suspiciously. 

“At eight in the morning, baby?” Sherlock’s gut twisted at the lie. Lies lies lies. He hated it, he hated it, he  _ hated _ it. 

“Yes, daddy, with Molly,” John’s brows furrowed and he gripped Sherlock’s arm tighter, Sherlock’s eyes downcast, tracing an outline around daddy’s feet. John’s voice was so low, so gravely and dark it send trembles through Sherlock’s entire body, gooseflesh rising all over his chest and arms.

“Are you lying to me?” He whispered and Sherlock closed his eyes tight, breath hitched in his throat. Daddy pulled him closer, breath warm against his face, “Answer me, Sherlock.” Sherlock only nodded his head slightly, his stomach dropped and he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t breathe, he was a liar. A liar, a liar, a liar, so fat and ugly and stupid and a liar. Daddy pulled him by the arm into the sitting room and nudged him onto the sofa, letting go and Sherlock wrapped himself in his arms, tucking his head between his bent knees. The worst part was that daddy was going to make him  _ eat.  _ Maybe tell him he had some girly sounding disease like Mycroft, or send him to hospital like mummy. He hated it, he hated it all. Daddy returned with two mugs of tea, placing one on the coffee table in front of him. Sherlock’s eyes popped up, shimmering pale blue and grey, rimmed with quiet tears he really did not want to spill.  _ Sign of weakness,  _ Mycroft whispered in his mind,  _ always were such a weak boy. _

“Sherlock.” Daddy’s low voice snapped him back to reality, his face full of disappointment and concern. Sherlock whimpered and tucked his head back down, tears bubbling over. He clenched his eyes closed,  _ stop crying Sherlock!  _ “You’re not in trouble, kitten I only want to talk about this,” He reached out and gripped Sherlock’s hands firmly, blue eyes dark and infinite. Sherlock let tears dribble down his cheeks and watched Daddy’s hands rubbing over his. “Can you tell me why you lied to me?”

Sherlock moved to say something, to explain, but the words caught somewhere in his lungs and stayed there, chained to his bones and refusing to escape. John seemed to understand after a moment and whispered, “is it because of the food, baby boy?” Sherlock nodded vigorously, tears flowing faster, sniffles loud and snotty. He was such a child sometimes! Why couldn’t he just be a man, be strong enough to be good enough. “What about it, Sherlock, what’s wrong with eating?”

“I-um,” Sherlock bit back a sob that leaked all over his words, cracked and torn and broken voice struggling to continue, “your shirts, daddy,” 

John cocked an eyebrow, “my shirts?” Sherlock nodded softly. 

“Don’t wanna be too big for your shirts daddy, want you to carry me, but I’m so unbearably heavy, I’m not  _ right. _ ” He looked down at his body angrily, his voice frustrated and little. John nodded, heart panging with hurt, hurt that Sherlock would ever,  _ ever  _ feel this way. He wanted to soccer punch whomever or whatever had told Sherlock he was anything less than perfection. 

He reached out gingerly and began to card through Sherlock’s inky curls, whispering, “Oh, Sherlock.” He pulled his trembling boy into his arms, carrying him to his armchair and setting them both down gently before rubbing firm circles on his nape, knowing how it calmed him. He sighed and let Sherlock curl up into him, his nose pressed close to his armpit, hands clutching at his shirt. “What a silly thought, Sherlock, you, not _right_? When I know for certain you are the most precious and perfect little boy that there is,” He placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s nose, earning a teeny smile in return, a sad little smile that split him down the middle. “ _My_ smashing, brilliant little kitten, who sometimes is awfully silly.” Sherlock scrunched up his nose and wrapped his arms around daddy’s neck, tucking his chin on his shoulder. John chuckled at his cuteness, placing an arm under his bum and picking him up. “I don’t like it when you lie to me, Sherlock.” 

“Me neither,” Sherlock mumbled glumly, pouting his face and sighing.

“Splendid, love, because there will be consequences if it happens again.” Sherlock whimpered and curled further into daddy as he carried him to the kitchen. He was placed on the kitchen bench, his feet dangling in the air, and he kicked them back and forth, leaning back on his palms. Daddy laughed and put two slices of bread into the toaster. Soon a plate of toast and jam was in Sherlock's lap, looking up at him innocently. Sherlock swallowed the bile in his throat and looked up at John, who was watching him closely, arms crossed. He slowly and carefully raised the first piece to his mouth and took a small bite off the corner, chewing slowly and swallowing. John smiled proudly and Sherlock almost laughed. Pathetic. Pathetic. He was an adult now. Not some moody teenage girl. He slowly ate all of it, and when he was finished he felt so full he could burst. He looked up at daddy expectantly who lavished him with a smile and kissed all over his face, hand in his hair, petting him gently. Sherlock beamed. Maybe this wasn’t so terrible after all…

Work and school were boring as usual. He had eaten the bag of cut apples daddy had packed him at lunch time, and his phone pinged unexpectedly. 

_ New message from Daddy _

_ 11: 33 Proud of you.  _

Sherlock smiled, his whole body glowing with praise. Daddy couldn’t have known for sure he’d eat the apples. He trusted Sherlock, and that made Sherlock squirm happily, grinning like an idiot. He rushed home after class, to find a note on the coffee table, along with a beautifully wrapped box, 60cm across. He picked it up gently and knew immediately what was inside. He eyes the note. 

_ Hope you had a good day at school, kitten, had a bit of a work emergency, I’ll be home late, be in bed before 11 tonight. Be sure to practice something special for me baby boy. -Daddy _

Sherlock’s heart was swollen with excitement as he undid the immaculate bow, lifting the lid of the box and pulling out the instrument case. He clicked it open and gasped. It was a Guarneri, his eyes were wide as he picked it up delicately, putting the shoulder rest in place and putting it under his chin, his heart racing as he tightened the bow and drew it across the strings, a g-major chord. It was lovely, it was the most valuable thing he had ever touched. He quickly became acquainted again, having not had an instrument for months, he let his fingers disappear beneath him, not even feeling the aches in his bow arm, the tensing of his neck, he played and played and played, until he ran out of songs in his head and began to make up his own. 

“Sherlock,” John gasped, eyes wide and glittering blue, a smile on his lips as he took of his suit jacket by the door, Sherlock blushed furiously and put the violin down before John tutted, “No, don’t stop on my account, that’s brilliant Sherlock,” He paused, watching the younger boy turn a deep crimson as he continued to play, “absolutely brilliant,” he whispered mostly to himself, eyes never off of his boy. 

_ His  _ boy, talented and sweet and beautiful. When the tune finished, Sherlock quickly began to disassemble the shoulder rest and place everything back in the case. John whistled, clapping and standing in a silly one-man ovation. Sherlock thought it was not scientifically possible to be blushing as much as he was. John patted his knee, and Sherlock scampered into his lap, legs and arms tangling around him in a messy embrace, cheek rubbing all over his daddy’s scruffy chin. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you daddy, it’s perfect,” Sherlock nuzzled his head into John’s neck and the older man smiled.

“I’m glad you like it, princess,”

“Like it?! Da-addy,” Sherlock rolled his eyes playfully and leaned back, eyes flickering over John, biting his lip. Good Lord, the way he did that, John fought back the urge to ravish him right there in the arm chair. “Daddy I  _ love  _ it.” He whispered, long dark eyelashes fluttering before he planted a chaste kiss on his mouth, his lips soft and delicate and so unsure. John smiled and gripped a handful of his hair, pulling Sherlock into a deep growl, biting on his plump bottom lip, sucking and pulling oh-so perfectly on Sherlock’s curls, the younger man let out an involuntary moan. His voice was soft and flustered and John’s eyes darkened, hands gripping the sides of his face firmly, staking his claim to Sherlock’s mouth. 

“Could we-” Sherlock mumbled against John’s lips, “could we, um-”

“Speak up, little one, I can’t hear you,” Daddy grinned coyly, rubbing firm hands down low on Sherlock’s back, skimming the top of his arse. Sherlock leaned towards John’s ear and whispered. 

“Oh yes, little one, I think I would be most agreeable to that.” Sherlock smiled and dove right back into the kiss, his heart aflutter with music and  _ daddy _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3 comments and feedback always appreciated my loves


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